A Proper Doctor
by katierosefun
Summary: Clara Oswald is sick with a bad case of the flu...and the Doctor makes it his personal mission to be as useful to her as possible. [Light Whoufleé fluff was intended.]


**This was requested by cclarasdoctor a while ago on Tumblr - so sorry about the lateness! cclarasdoctor is also on FanFiction - be sure to check out her fanfics, because they're filled to the brim with wonderful Whoufleé/Whouffaldi fluff that'll make your heart leap with joy. So go check her out! *thumbs up* **

**Enjoy! **

* * *

_A Proper Doctor _

The Doctor was talented in lots of things – tying a bowtie, making fish sticks and custard, traveling through time and space, using a sonic screwdriver, using a _TARDIS_, football, cheese-making, _all of that. _So naturally, knowing how to take care of a sick patient _should _be under the list of those talents somewhere…

At least, that's what the Doctor was thinking when Clara Oswald refused to be dragged out of the house because of the flu. "Not today, Doctor," she mumbled, curling up into a shivering ball on her bed. "'m too tired today." A small coughing fit overtook her body and after a few moments of nothing but hacking and gasping, Clara added hoarsely, "Or maybe too sick."

The Doctor grimaced and clasped his hands together. "Right," he replied. "Too sick – definitely, definitely too sick." He walked round the bed and leaned against the post. "That's why I'm going to stay here."

Clara poked her head out from the large mound of blankets that had been piled on top of her. She rubbed her too-bright eyes and mumbled a soft (yet incredulous) "_what?"_

The Doctor clapped his hands together again and replied as cheerfully as he could, "_That's right! _I'll stay here – all cozy in the Maitland's house – until you get better! Does that sound good?" Not waiting for an answer, he grinned at Clara and replied, "_Good!_" With that, he ran out of the small bedroom.

He wasn't aware of Clara Oswald actually _following _him down the stairs to the Maitland's kitchen until he heard the rustle of blankets being dragged across the cold stone floor. The Doctor whirled around, mouth open. "_Clara!_" he said indignantly, grabbing the brunette by the shoulders and promptly turning her around. "What're you doing down here? I just told you I'd stay, didn't I? _You have to get some rest! Stay in bed!_"

Clara gave the Doctor a wary look. "I heard you, Doctor," she said. "I just don't trust you by yourself _in this area._" She gestured with weak, pale arms at the kitchen around them. "You'd probably set something on fire or something."

"I'm wounded," the Doctor replied, frowning. "I know how to make my way around the kitchen!" He gave Clara's shoulders a quick squeeze and gently tugged her out of the room. "Don't you worry about a single thing, Clara! I'll have everything under control! _Everything!_"

Clara sighed, though she started to make her way up the stairs. She gave the Doctor another uneasy glance before saying slowly, "You'll…call me if anything bad happens, yeah?

"Yes, yes, yes," the Doctor replied, waving his hands about. He pointed up the stairs. "But for now, forget about your nanny duties! You're safe here, I promise!" he jutted a thumb back to the kitchen. "I'll just…try making something!"

To the Doctor's relief, Clara sighed and started to make her way up the stairs. He leaned against the kitchen counter and smiled fondly up at the younger woman's retreating figure. _A sick Clara Oswald, _he thought to himself, drumming his fingers lightly against the counter. _And a doctor. How fitting. _

Laughing lightly under his breath, the Doctor turned around and got to work. After a few minutes of searching through the cupboards, he managed to pull out a clean, white bowl and a can of chicken noodle from the pantry. _Chicken noodle soup is always good for people, right? _He had thought as he undid the lid of the can. _So it has to be good for Clara. Hm, yes…_

The Doctor might have had a bit trouble with the microwave (but he fixed it with the sonic screwdriver! Sort of…well, now the microwave has more applications and it can now serve up to five bowls of soup within thirty seconds…) though in the end, he managed to get the soup out in what he thought (hoped, more like,) was a reasonable (again, see _hoped_,) temperature.

And so, with a hopeful smile and light heart, the Doctor balanced a tray up the stairs. (He successfully managed not to trip over on his own feet. Or get distracted by anything. Both required more energy than the Doctor originally thought.) The Doctor, after completing his little mission, gently pushed open the door to Clara's bedroom with his foot.

"Something might have happened to the microwave, but it might not be for the worse – I actually think you'll be able to do multiple things with it now – oh, and the soup's decent, I think…might be wrong, might be right – hopefully, I'm right." The Doctor murmured all in one breath. He flicked a quick glance at Clara, waiting for her to speak. However, Clara Oswald was bundled tight underneath her great blankets and so far, she hadn't moved.

Frowning, the Doctor placed the tray on her nightstand and walked over to her side. "Clara?" he whispered cautiously, placing a hand on her shoulder. He shook it gently, saying softly, "Are you awake? Clara?"

There was a small _mmm _from Clara and the brunette's head lifted only a few centimeters off the pillow to look up at the Doctor with bleary eyes. "Clearly not _now_," she mumbled. The Doctor smiled apologetically and patted her head. "Sorry," he said quietly and jutted a thumb at the bowl. "Soup as a peace offering?"

A small laugh escaped from Clara's lips, though it quickly escalated into a cough – causing both Clara and the Doctor to cringe with every passing moment. "I won't make jokes," the Doctor said feebly.

"Oh, don't say _that,_" Clara replied with a shake of her head. "You'll probably end up making me laugh either way, so don't bother trying."

"Because that's not discouraging at all," the Doctor shot back. He was smiling, though, just to let Clara know that no real harm had been done. Pressing a small, soft kiss to the brunette's forehead, he murmured, "Come on – time for me to act like a real doctor now."

Humming softly at those words, Clara rested her chin over the Doctor's shoulder. "Don't know about that," came her quiet reply. "I think you're good enough just the way you are." Tossing the Doctor a small glance, she added, "But for now, I think taking care of me sounds like a good idea."

Feeling his face flush happily, the Doctor nodded and gave his bowtie a quick, satisfied tug. "Sounds like a plan," he agreed.

* * *

**A/N - No, I don't know why I'm posting this story at 11:58 PM. I just happen to be awake, though I intend to crash the second I post this, because I've realized that sleep has become a valuable thing for me ever since high school started. XD **

**Reviews are always great! Constructive criticism is welcome, but flames are not!**


End file.
